


Autumn Roads

by Persephoneshadow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, Ghosts, Impala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 10:26:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13832229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephoneshadow/pseuds/Persephoneshadow
Summary: She likes the fall.





	Autumn Roads

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Finally posting my fic from Seasons! I really loved doing this and I hope you enjoy thhe fic as much as I did. The MCD is not a large feautre. This is my love letter to the show and everyone's favorite girl.

She likes the fall. The colors. The cool wind. She’s seen so many, a thousand falls in near a hundred years. Moving through the back roads and country lanes, she’s seen the vibrant colors of New England like a world on fire; the trees like red-green apples among the pines of the Northwest. She’s seen the deserts and cities where only a stray dry leaf reveals the change of the season. Dean hates those places, complains about the smog and smell. He likes the open road better. Prefers to park at a shack or a farm stand for coffee and then watch the rain.

He says that the ghosts come out in the fall. He’s told Sam his theory about it many times. Sam rolls his eyes every time, but once in awhile he’ll indulge his brother. He’ll say that maybe it makes people believe more–all that new cold and dark that they forgot over the summer. Or maybe the Celts knew what they were talking about with the veil being thin. No matter the reason, Dean’s mostly right. Like usual. They tend to have more hauntings in the fall. The air always smells like smoke in the fall anyway, Dean says and it’s easier to get away with “the weird shit”’ She trusts him about that.

They seem happier in the fall too, her boys. Most of the time. They find their way to each other when the leaves turn, when death and distance part them. It’s in the spring when she’s felt the splash of their blood, the lifeless weight of them, the sting of tears. Fall is when she first felt the new weight of galaxies and stardust compressed into human form within her protection. Of course it was in the fall that she first became their home when the first was taken by fire and  felt the ripples of true evil near her and tried her best to keep it from them. But not every road can be smooth.

There was a ghost in Kentucky. A few years and many thousands of miles ago. Dean only took the case because it was a distillery, Sam said. Dean didn’t argue. Castiel smiled when Dean joked that they would find spirits no matter what. The road there was winding and rough, tall pines obscuring Dean’s view of the turns, but he kept her steady. Castiel told them ahead of time that there was a real spirit beyond the crumbling beams and stone walls. Dean called that a spoiler, but Sam thanked him. She bid them goodbye with the creak of her doors and waited. She was always patient for them.

It’s not often that she sees the ghosts. Or monsters. A few times they’ve taken her, hurt her and stolen her but she has always found her way back the Winchesters. So it was strange when the figure of a woman appeared beside her, pale and cold. It was like sleet and cold wind when she touched her frame, sending chills through her. But the ghost smiled, sad and kind as the wind blew through the trees and right through her.

She wasn’t afraid, no ghost could hurt her. There was salt and warding all through her. So she waited with the ghost beside her. It was…comforting, in its way. She didn’t know the girl’s story beyond a few scraps Dean had pieced together. There was a murder and a suicide and they weren’t sure which had produced the ghost. Many years ago…yes. 1973. This ghost was almost as old as her. Maybe that’s why she’d smiled. The crush of gravel and the priming of a shotgun signaled the hunters’ return. Dean raised the weapon but Cas stopped him.

“She doesn’t mean any harm.” He was always understanding like that, mortal or angelic. He could see through things.

“Dean, I think he’s right. She’s not malicious. The reports didn’t have any violence in them,” Sam said.

The ghost touched her again and then looked to the hunters. “My sweetheart had a car like this. He said he was going to come and take me away…” He never came. It didn’t need to be said.

“Dean, the murder at the same time as the suicide,” Castiel said. It was a grisly affair. Lovers parted. He’d left too soon and left her waiting.

“So what do we do?” Dean asked.

“What was his name?” Castiel asked.

“Joe Washington,” the ghost said.

Perhaps because it was fall, and the ghosts and heaven were close already or perhaps because Joe was bound to his love, it didn’t take long for Castiel to reach him. Maybe they were tied together and he heard her call through the ether, but when the light around the angel coalesced into a man with dark skin and loving eyes. It made sense.

“Betty, honey, I’m sorry I’m late, my girl. But I’m here now. I’m ready to take you home.”

The light around them was warm, golden like autumn sun. It left an echo of love in the air when they were gone.

After that there was nothing else to do but see if there was anything left in the distillery, according to Dean. There was. A few barrels and bottles they loaded into her for their trouble. They drank the bourbon later, after she was safely parked in a cleared field with dry leaves and hay under her tires. They sipped their spoils from a plastic cup and two chipped mugs and looked at the stars, and for a little while they were happy.

It’s been many years since that night. Many roads and changes. New generations behind her wheel, lives changed, grace lost, worlds saved.

She doesn’t see different autumns any more. Just the same change of the leaves on the great oak next to where they all found their final rest. It seems right that she stays here too, waiting. Still watching over the three of them.

In autumn the leaves turn gold, the wind picks up and the veil is thin. In autumn there are ghosts. In autumn there is a breath on the breeze that feels like love, a visitor, or two, or three. A touch of cold on a rusted frame.

_“Hey, Baby, did you miss me?”_


End file.
